


Reoccurance

by byzantienne



Category: Tokyo Babylon, X/1999
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle, Post-Canon, Tentacles, Tree Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-19
Updated: 2008-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byzantienne/pseuds/byzantienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just like Subaru remembers. It should be a nightmare, the kind where everything happens exactly the same and he can't change anything, no matter what he tries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reoccurance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Porn Battle on Insanejournal, for Mithrigil's prompt: _Seishirou/Subaru, vines as tentacles, abrading violation._
> 
> Warnings for violence, tentacles, hungry trees. Oh, and Seishirou.
> 
> Post-_Tokyo Babylon_.

It's just like Subaru remembers. It should be a nightmare, the kind where everything happens exactly the same and he can't change anything, no matter what he tries.

He doesn't try.

The tree, the hunger and abomination of it, clawing its way out of the ground behind him, a soundless twist of roots and vines. The fall of the petals, speeding with his heartbeat.

"People betray people," he hears Seishirou say, an echo, soft. "These things --"

The roots wind around his ankles, jerk him backward. Vines catch at his wrists, wind around his arms. He's off the ground, held _up_ \-- the roots circling around his legs, higher --

"--they happen all over this city."

Subaru makes a noise, or tries to, starts to, and then one of the vines is in his mouth, as fast and abrupt as illusion, and he _gasps_.

His mouth is open, stretched and splayed like his legs, the rough bark scraping the inside of his lips raw, shoving his tongue flat in his lower jaw and pushing up against his palate. He gags, sobs for breath he can't reach around the thickness of the vine. His tongue flexes against it, squirming helplessly.

The scent of sakura is heavy enough to have turned into a taste.

The vines around Subaru's wrists jerk tight, draw his hands up behind his back, all of his weight hanging from shoulders and wrists. They pull harder, and the low buzzing strain in his muscles snaps into real pain, white and -- expanding -- in his wrist, in his _scars_ \-- the moan he can't help is swallowed by the suffocating wood. He twists. He's strung up. The movement goes only as far as a futile skirl of his hips in the air, no friction, only the spiraling vines holding him up, holding him _open_. His back scrapes against the bark of the tree. There's no give, even when it opens, sucking, devouring -- just more abrasion, more of him rubbed raw, like he's being flayed, like there won't be anything left of him.

Everything _aches_, throat and jaw stretched, hip joints strained, his chest tight like he wants to cry or cry _out_, groin --

Subaru forces his eyes open, tries to see through the blood-pink fall of petals, through the blood-black spots in his vision, thinks, _dreams_ \-- oxygen deprivation -- just the edges of the smile under the dead eye, watching, just exactly the same as he always was --

The vine in his mouth surges forward and the vines on his thighs push -- push _in_ \-- a thorn catches on his lip, tears, his mouth full of blood and there really is no air, only movement, inside him and against his back, the _scrape_ \--

He's covered in sweat, tangled in the thin sheets of his bed, shaking and hard and _alone_, with his lip bitten clean through.

The flare of the scars on his hands fades while he watches. When it's gone he turns his head to the wall, stares at the white, bare paint.


End file.
